


home.

by ultsmrk



Series: — reader fics; [8]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, trigger warning for rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultsmrk/pseuds/ultsmrk
Summary: On a night you need him the most, he comes to you. Your best friend, your safe haven, your home.
Series: — reader fics; [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1393618
Kudos: 15





	home.

**Author's Note:**

> As implied by the archive warning, this piece has a section of rape in it. Please, if you are uncomfortable then I implore you do not read this work, or if you insist on reading it please skip past the abuse. Also, if you wish to vent to me, my twitter is @/PE4CHYJAES. Feel free to DM me and vent, if you need to.
> 
> \-- Dee.

A door opens, and a quiet voice whispers in the darkness.

“ _ Y/N? Are you in here? _ ”

Footsteps echo across the spacious room. The voice gets louder; more familiar.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m here.” You feel yourself being picked up, and as you’re pressed against the familiar, soft hoodie, and the familiar warm body you instantly relax. The calm voice continues to soothe your aching sobs as you’re carried out to the car. He places you gently in the backseat, getting into the car next to you as he orders the driver to take the two of you back home. He keeps one hand placed on your back, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. You look up, and Johnny Seo’s soft eyes look back at you.

The two of you say nothing through the entire ride, but every so often you would look up at him and he looks back at you, his eyes soft and smile softer. Every time you felt a tear in your eye, a repressed memory resurfacing, you would snap your gaze away from him, focussing on the bright city lights passing you by. You barely notice when you’re back home, and you only realise where you are when Johnny nudges you gently.

“Hey. I got you. Come here.”

Johnny holds out a hand, which you take. He guides you out of the car, picking you up again the moment you’re out of the car. He thanks the driver for taking him out so late, before he silently carries you back upstairs. Once inside the apartment, all eyes fall on you. A lot of concerned looks and questions come your way; Johnny deflects them immediately as he carries you to your room at the end of the hall.

Pushing open the door with his foot, he steps into the room and just manages to flick on the light with his elbow. He carries you over to the bed, placing you down gently. You roll over the bed, facing away from him. You didn’t want him to see you like this; crusty make-up sticking to your face, eyes red and full of defeat. He sighs, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he takes off your shoes, placing them by the bedroom door.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You don’t answer him, and he takes that as a clear sign that you weren’t ready to revisit the memories just yet. Getting up from the bed, he draws a blanket over your body. You take the blanket in your hands, pulling it closer to your body. He heaves another sigh.

“Okay. I’m going to bed; if you need me, you’ll come get me, right?”

You make a small noise, a way of telling him you’ll do so. You feel a hand on your head, as Johnny strokes your hair gently. Then, he turns around, flicks off the light, and leaves.

**

You always disliked company dinners. It wasn’t so much the food, per-se, as the people that accompanied you. The people in question, being the people in a higher position of power.

You were getting through the night okay, you thought. You were laughing with your co-workers, enjoying a peaceful dinner. That was until you hear a slurring in your left ear, and turn to face the head of your department, who was attempting to shove a glass of whiskey in your hand.

“I’m okay, thank-you.” You politely decline, holding up the glass of water you were currently getting through. You weren’t much of a drinker, and it was clear that your boss hated that. He grumbles, shoving the glass at you again. You once again decline the offer, but the persistence was slightly annoying you and you didn’t want to look bad in front of everyone. So, to the slight dismay of your co-workers, you take the drink from your boss’ sweaty hand.

That was what turned the night from a good one, to the worst night of your life.

At one point in the evening, you get up and excuse yourself to the bathroom -- the atmosphere was getting very stuffy which you hated, so you took this opportunity to recollect yourself. You enter the bathroom, going for the stall furthest from the door. You do your business, and exit the stall. As you wash your hands, you hear the bathroom door open. Without giving it a second thought, you were surprised to see your boss staggering into the room.

“Uhm, sir? This is the women’s bathroom. The men’s is-”

“I’ve always liked you, Y/N.” He hums, and you slowly notices the grin on his face. You shift uncomfortably, maintaining as much distance as you can. But as he talks, he walks closer. “You bring something to our company that we’ve never had before. Drive, determination, creativity…  _ innocence _ .”

You feel uncomfortable as his eyes wander up and down your body, scanning you. Your hands move to your clothes, you’re tugging at your pencil skirt to try and make it longer. But it was no use, by now he is already standing in front of you. He is small, and sleazy, and giving you the sickest grin.

“You walk around all day like you’re a perfect angel who can do no harm,” he chuckles. You want to run, but his eyes are pinning you against the wall. “But then you go home to over twenty guys. Surely, you must do doing them  _ some  _ favours, right?”

In truth, you knew how awkward it would be to explain your living situation. To put things simply, you had taken a chance and were following a past friendship when you dropped everything and moved out to Seoul. You had nowhere else to go, so when your childhood best friend offered you the spare room in his apartment, you gladly accepted. You, of course, didn’t anticipate nineteen other people to be living in that apartment. And all your friend did was smile sheepishly, scratch the back of his head and say: “ _ Yeah. I’m kind of in an idol group that’s super famous. And we all live together. _ ”

Not to say that didn’t deter you. Living with them had their moments, that you would cherish forever. Movie nights with Johnny and Mark, game nights with all the boys to decide who would be doing the dishes next. You fondly remember the summers where you would have impromptu nerf battles and hide-and-seek games (which they always,  _ always  _ let you win.). Over the past two years, these boys had become your second family, and you wouldn’t give them up for anything.

It was even weirder to be living with them considering your role within the company. You weren’t exactly a manager, or even a producer or an editor. You were a part of the accounting department. One of the boys had gotten you the job, and in turn you had to lie and say you weren’t living with them. But, the rumour mill turned wildly whenever you turn up to the office at the same time the boys would arrive for practice, and whenever you left you would occasionally jump in the car with them. Your co-workers simply suspected you were sleeping with one of them, but nobody had ever come as close as to figuring out the whole truth as to now.

“I mean, if I was living with you, I wouldn’t exactly be letting you go to waste.” You turn your eyes away from the sleazy voice, but he kept getting in your line of sight. There was no escape; your heart started to pound and your breathing picked up its pace as anxiety fills your veins. Then he says those words, slurring them out with a disgusting chuckle and a gross smirk planting itself on his lips.

“Be a dear and get on your knees for me, sweetheart?”

“Wh-what?” You manage to splutter the words out, frozen in fear as you once again look away from that face, and he once again makes you look him in the eye.

“Did you not hear me?” He asks, his words dripping with false sweetness. He even goes so far as to give you his sweetest smile, a smile that tells you that nobody is going to believe you. A smile that tells you you’re alone, that you don’t have the right cards to win this game. That you’re  _ nothing  _ but a slave to the corrupt company in which you work for.

“I said get on your knees,” He whispers, using his cold gaze to push you down to the floor. “And provide the same service that I’m sure your roommates get all the time from you.”

You didn’t want to remember those next twenty minutes. You instinctively shut your eyes to block out the sights, but that just made the sound of the belt louder; the taste and feel of that thick, disgusting  _ chode  _ stronger; the violation more intense. For the next twenty minutes, you couldn’t move. Your hot tears stain your cheeks as you’re used as a tool for his pleasure. You didn’t make a sound, as much as the tip of him choked the back of your mouth and made you want to gag. 

He finishes with a grunt, and as he slides himself out of your mouth you cough up his aftertaste, vomiting up your meal in the process on his clean shoes. He draws up a hand, striking you across the face and cursing you out for defiling him, as if he hadn’t done the same to you. He reaches into one of the stalls, wiping the vomit from his shoes before throwing the tissue into the bowl and flushing. Then, to rub it in further, he pats your head and whispers: “Good girl. Those boys of yours are lucky, hm?”

He then leaves without another word. When you hear the door shut, you pull yourself up into a ball and sob until you can’t cry anymore, until your body shakes violently and your chest tightens. Your head pounds, aching more as you push yourself to your feet. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; broken, defiled and  _ ugly _ . You look away, shuffling to the bathroom door.

You look back at your table, where your co-workers continue to laugh, and your sleazeball boss continues to coerce another to drink. You look away, slugging out of the restaurant and into the nearest cab. The driver gives you a worried look for the entire drive, but you say nothing as you ask him to take you to the only place you felt at home. When you arrive, you thrust crisp bills into the drivers hand and tell him to keep the change as you tiredly push yourself out of the car.

Ironically, one of the main places you felt safe in this city was the company; more specifically, the practice rooms that were inside the company. Nobody bats an eye at you as you push onwards to the elevators and enter them, pushing the button for the fourteenth floor. You lean against the metal wall as the elevator takes you up, the soft elevator music filling you with dread.

You walk slowly down the hall until you get to the room at the very end. The lights were off; a room usually filled with sweaty bodies and loud music is now greeting you with silence and darkness. As you enter the room and shut the door gently behind you, you let out another sob as you drop to the floor and crawl over to the farthest corner. You press your body against the mirrored walls, pull your knees to your chest and cry.

After what felt like an eternity, your shaking hands reach for your phone in your bag. You blink back tears as you navigate your contacts, flicking through the names until you came across the one person who made you feel safe: your best friend, your reason for being here. Clicking on the name, you bring the phone to your ear as it rings, and he answers after the second ring.

“Y/N?”

You can’t say the words, you couldn’t tell him what happened. You knew what you would lose if you were to say anything -- there would be a scandal, you would risk countless jobs just to be told nobody believed you. Just to be denied justice. 

But, you didn’t have to say anything. Your crying was enough of an indication that something was wrong.

“Y/N. Where are you?”

“I’m… at the practice room..” You mumble, exhaustion hitting you like a truck. 

“Okay. Stay there, I’m coming to get you. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Nothing more is said. You hear a dial tone as he hangs up, and you drop your phone as sleep takes over you.

**

A scream fills your lungs as you jolt awake, repressed memories returning and causing you to shake violently. You blink your eyes, looking like a deer in headlights as you scan your surroundings. You settle slightly as you realise where you are; you’re back home, in your bed, where you were safe. Nothing could hurt you, now.

You shudder, wondering why you weren’t in your pyjamas. But, then the tight material of your skirt gives you an overwhelming sense of fear. What you thought was a dream was reality. A lump rises in your throat, and tears welled in your eyes. You suddenly felt very cold under the warm blanket, and very alone in your dark room. 

Getting off the bed, you carefully open your bedroom door and slip out of the room. The dorm was quiet; everyone had either gone off to bed or gone off to do something else in the comfort of their rooms. You bite down hard on your bottom lip as you skim past the rooms until you get to the bedroom three doors down on the left. Knocking on the door softly, you open it and stand in the doorway, looking across the room at the sleeping boy in his bed.

The light streaming in through the doorway wakes him up. He blinks at you for a few seconds, confused.

“Y/N?” Johnny asks, his voice hoarse as he lets out a yawn. “What’s wrong?”

“I..I couldn’t sleep.” You confess, wrapping your arms around yourself as you don’t move from the doorway. “I had.. a nightmare.”

“Come here.” He sits up in bed, holding out his arms. You take a few steps into the room, leaving the door ajar as you walk over to the bed. Climbing on the edge, you crawl over to him, burying yourself into his chest.

“You’re freezing, Y/N. Here, let me get you something.” He gently moves you, laying your head on the pillow. Getting up, Johnny moves to his wardrobe. He rummages through it before he pulls out something grey in colour. Returning to the bed, he motions for you to sit up.

“Okay. Arms up.” You follow his direction, and he pulls one of his hoodies over your head -- the same one he was wearing when he came and got you. Shuddering, the warm smell of the hoodie slowly settles you as you lay back down. Johnny climbs back into the bed. He pulls the covers over the two of you and pulls you onto his chest. He wraps his arms around you as you feel hot tears drip down your cheeks onto his torso.

“Y/N… do you want to talk about it, now?” He asks, and you sigh. You wanted to tell him, but you knew that you couldn’t. And, in some type of way, he knew it too.

“No.” You mumble, lifting a hand to wipe your tears as you sniffle. “I just want to go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” He says softly, rubbing circles into your back. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me. Right?”

You say nothing, for you had already gone back to sleep.


End file.
